


When the Luck Runs Out

by MiniPeridot



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Been sitting on this idea for a while, Both boys are cute, Boys get in trouble, Dad does not let her date, F/M, He is also an ass, Hurt, I own only my OCs, Kind of a tyrant, Lies, Louis-Joseph Gaultier Chevalier de la Vérendrye has a loooong name, Love Triangle, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Saoirse is kind of a brat, She does it anyway, Stubborn old man, Trying to write in Irish accent is haaaard!, Unpopular Opinion: I don't care for Achilles, Will provide pronounciations, Words are hard, i am trying, lol, overprotective dad, smut???, we'll see, you cannot change my mind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22940080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniPeridot/pseuds/MiniPeridot
Summary: Orla Hayes lives in the colonies during the time of AC: Rogue and meets Liam and Shay. Dad doesn't want her dating but finds he can't stop her. How does everyone handle her in the world of Assassin's and Templars and which boy will end up winning her heart in the end? Or, will neither of them and will they make very bad choices that cost them her love forever??
Relationships: Liam O'Brien/OC, Liam O'Brien/Reader, Shay Cormac/Reader, shay cormac/oc
Kudos: 5





	1. Miramichi

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, writing in accents is haaaaard! I am trying though. Generally, in an Irish accent, I have found that the vowels get emphasized differently than say, American English. So, where there is an apostrophe to indicate the accent, know that for Orla, her parents, Shay and Liam, it means that the letter missing is still being said, it is just that the emphasis is on what is around the apostrophe.  
> Ex: Tha's=That's Just try saying "that's" but don't let your tongue touch the roof of your mouth on the second "t"  
> OR: "ya" or "ye". It's not quite either sound I think. It's like a strange in-between of the two that needs to be made... maybe like an "uh" sound??
> 
> I know. This is hard. I am trying. Suggestions and corrections/easier ways to write the accent are welcome but please done tear me apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story starts up after the start of the game, but still very early. Most of the story is from my OC's perspective, but we'll get to see things from Shay or maybe Liam's perspective now and then

Miramichi, North Atlantic

April 27th, 1753

My legs are starting to ache beneath me as I take yet another, painfully slow, careful step, out towards the edge of the fallen-over tree. I resist the urge to sigh in relief when the snow and ice do not crunch beneath my feet. My eyes sting a little, blinking against the ice that formed on my eyelashes in the cold.

I force my limbs to sit still as the deer comes closer, its head lowered against the wind and I do everything in my power to keep from shivering against the same wind. He wanders past me, still within striking distance, but he hasn’t noticed me...yet.

Finally, I pick myself up and charge, knife in hand as I make the jump. Sadly, the deer hears me coming and tries to run. My knife manages to hit its flank squarely, but it still runs off, bleeding and badly wounded as it is. My heart sinks as I watch the animal charge on, quickly gaining distance. That is, until a shot rings out, and I jump in surprise as the animal falls.

I sigh, trying to push up to my feet in the foot or two of snow. A warm, deep chuckle sounds out nearby as I ink in the soft snow. I am soon being lifted by a strong, gloved hand under my arm. “Not bad, little fox. Ye almost had i’.”

I huff, “almost, don’ catch the deer dad.” He chuckles, “aye, but ya did good lass… Don’ be upset luv. You’ll get ‘im next time.”

I grumble to myself as dad kisses my head and walks away to get the deer, readying his knife to skin it as I shake the snow out of my coat and mittens. I sheathe my knife and go to join him just as he finishes. We wrap it all up and split the spoils between us to carry. Father won’t let me hold the antlers, a bit of a tease for not actually making the kill shot, so, I end up stuck with some of the warm, but smelly meat of the animal.

Dad got the rest to take back, along with the rest of our catches today. All except for the white fox I’d caught earlier. That one, I wouldn’t let father carry back, partially due to his nickname for me, and, in part, because he hadn’t seen it. I’d seen it before he did, and, before it saw us.

We hike back through the woods, back to the port. I am panting by the time the ship’s mast finally comes into view. The captain is a good friend of dad’s, and had been more than happy to take us along on his own voyage. He didn’t even mind making stops so we could try our hand at hunting the local wildlife.

The crew takes some of the meat to put in their dinner, and we take the rest below to our cabin to sell in the next port. Father had shared with me, when we had first reached this area, his plan to keep the pelts and, if there were in good condition, to sell some of them back home. People pay good money for furs that aren’t outside their windows after all.

The captain looks relieved when he sees us heading below deck. “Glad you made it back. The snowstorm is picking up. We best be goin’ if ya still want to sleep in Perché tonight.” Dad chuckles and follows me below as the crew get the ship back out on the water and turn her sails towards Perché.

I sigh as I finally remove my gloves, rubbing my cold hands together to warm them after finally rubbing the ice out of my eyes. Dad put the furs and meat in crates for now, and took off his own gloves. Walking over, he wraps his large hands over mine, instantly warming them up. I smile up at him, “thanks dad.”

He smiles back at me. “Yer welcome. Get a little rest now, ye’v been on yer feet all day.” With a chuckle, I head for my bunk and kick my boots off, burying my feet in the blankets and pulling a book out to read in the candlelight.

We sit back in our cabin, the large sheet used to divide the room for privacy, drawn back as we wait to reach our destination. I had wanted my own cabin, but space was limited and, as father had put it, he trusted his friend, but not the crew. He wouldn’t risk any of them touching his baby girl. Even if she was hardly a baby anymore.

I love him, but he does have a tendency to be overprotective at times. He trusts me to go out hunting for bears on my own, but heaven forbid I be alone with an unarmed man. It’s almost funny how he trusts animals that would maul me beyond recognition more than men my own age. So, for this reason, we share a two-bed cabin, the room divided by a sheet with father’s half being closest to the door. Sometimes I think he forgets that I’m a woman, rather than a five-year-old girl in need of protecting.

At least he is a practical man, teaching me to hunt. Most parents are focused on making their daughters into wives-to-be. Mine though, they’re teaching me to take care of myself. Not that this excludes care for a husband, which my mother seems all too excited to see me with. However, father is far from ready to see his little girl with a man.

Father won’t even talk about what could happen if I were to be alone with a man. Unfortunately for him, mom did. She’s been trying, for a while now, to get him to relax and give me more freedom outside of hunting, but I have not yet seen any improvement.

It took weeks of begging to even let me come on this trip, and he only agreed so long as I listened to him and stayed close that he wouldn’t lose me at all times.

Being a passenger on a ship is rather dull, so I soon lose myself in my book. So much so, in fact, that I am taken completely by surprise when the ship suddenly lurches around, loud booms of thunder and shouts from the crew coming from the top deck.

There’s another pitch of the ship, and father moves. Grabbing his boots and coat, his face twists with concern as he scrambles to get his boots on properly. I grab my own, prepared to follow without hesitation, but father snaps, “NO!”

There is a moment of silence between us. Father _never_ raises his voice like that unless he’s scared, and, frankly, that scares me every time it happens.

He sighs, fixing me with a stern gaze, “ye can put yer boots on, but yer stayin’ ‘ere. Understand?” I nod slowly, “a’right, but ye best promise ta come back now, ya hear?”

He smiles at me. The same warm smile he’d give my mother whenever she made him promise to be careful. Walking over to me, he plants a kiss on my head, “aye. Promise. I‘ll be back soon luv. Need ta ask our cap’n a few questions.”

With those words, he leaves our cabin. Another crack of thunder and shouts shakes me from my daze and I wonder if he’ll be okay. Every time father goes to do something dangerous, even a simple hunting trip in the winter, I wonder if this will be the time he doesn’t come back.

It takes me a minute or two to realize that the ship is still swaying a great deal, enough to knock some of our possessions off the beds. I scramble out of bed and immediately jump back in it once my feet hit the cold, wooden floorboards. Once my boots are on securely, I rush around the cabin and tie a few things down, making sure father’s gun is not in a state to misfire on us later.

The booms of thunder and crash of the waves continues to get worse and I start to truly fear for my father’s safety. Not giving an ounce of thought to how father might feel about me in that dangerous mess, I head out the cabin and straight for the stairs to the top deck.

I reach the top, just to find it locked, as it should in a storm, but I care not, and throw the latch open, climbing up to look for my dad. If I found him, I’d return below immediately. I end up looking for a while before I spot him helping with a rope that's come loose.

He sees me and a look of pure terror comes over his face. As he opens his mouth to say something to me, a few loud cracks break through the air. Looking towards the source, one of the masts is snapping and starts to fall.

I stare up, in terror, as the wind pushes the broken mast towards me. I try to move, I really do, but as my mind tries to make a decision on how best to get away from that mess coming at me, I freeze. Every muscle is competing for their own escape plan, and not getting along. Panic sets in as I wonder if this will be when I end.

My vision starts to fail me and I can’t discern if I’m even still breathing anymore. Before the mast can actually hit me though, the wind is knocked out of my lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been holding on to this story for a while and just did edits to chapters 1-3 so they'll all get posted together


	2. Perché

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with the aftermath of the storm

The next thing I know, I’m sprawled across the deck, something heavy squeezing the life outta me. My vision steadily clears up and my lungs take in a big gulp of air. As I look around, my eyes eventually find a familiar glove around my stomach and chest.

“...Dad?” My voice is smaller and more afraid than I’d usually allow it to be. He groans in response. With a lot of wiggling, he lets me go and I quickly check him over for injuries. I can’t tell if it’s just his coat or not, but I can’t find any blood.

He’s conscious though, and his breathing sounds mostly normal. “Dad, are ya a’right?!” He groans again and tries to push himself up, wincing as his arm protests the movement.

A new fear shoots through me as I try to help him up without hurting his arm further. I get him back to our cabin and his coat off. He does his best to help me and directing me to where the pain is. Fortunately, nothing is bleeding, except for one spot on his cheek but not badly. His head took a hit or two, but he’s able to focus on me and, aside from whatever is up with his arm, he seems to be okay.

I make sure he gets a little water and get him as comfortable as he’ll let me. I talk to him for a little while, trying to keep him present with me. Finally, I reach a spot where I have nothing to say, and he speaks. “Orla?...” I cringe, knowing that tone. It’s the one dad uses when I’ve done something stupid.

“Orla?” His voice is stronger and firmer this time and I squeeze my eyes shut, taking a deep breath before meeting his gaze. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but he did tell me not to leave the cabin, so this could be bad. “What di’ I say ‘bout leavin’ the cabin?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, a nervous habit I’ve never been able to shake. Father’s scrutiny never lets up though. I know he’s mad, but my reason was not a selfish one, and father is a reasonable man. If I explain my reason, he will probably drop the matter with a simple, ‘just don’t do it again’.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to meet his gaze. “B’tween the shoutin’ an’ the storm, I had this thought tha’ I may not see ye again…”

For a long moment, he just stares at me, and I cannot read him. It’s a look I know very well. Mom and I call it his ‘Devil’s stare’. It’s when he manages to look at you without revealing any emotion. Cold and calculating like he can see your deepest secrets, sins and desires, and is deciding your judgement for it.

Finally, he sighs, holding his good arm up for a hug. I didn’t even know I’d wanted a hug this badly until I lunge at him for a strong hug. Sometimes, words won’t do the trick, and all you need is to hold someone to truly know that things are okay. However, this did not cure his arm, and I completely forgot it was hurt until I heard him hiss from the impact.

“Oh! Sorry, dad!” Panicking, I tried to pull away, but, with one arm, he held me there, chuckling. “No, it’s a’right, luv. Nofin’ warms ma heart more than ta know ma little girl is getting stronger every day.”

Sighing, I rest my head against him, shaking my head slightly. I soon pull away to get him a blanket and he doesn’t stop me. When I turn back though, his glove hits me square in the face and I pause for a moment in total confusion. Apparently his left arm is just as good at aiming as his right, if a little weaker.

He just laughs and we proceed to throw our gloves back and forth at one another for a while. Father decides to catch the gloves as I throw them at him, and, soon, he has all four. I quickly jump to my bed and grab my pillow to use as a shield as he proceeds to throw them at me.

We’re both giggling messes as the captain comes into the room, completely confused. He calmly clears his throat, and waits until he has our full attention to speak. “We’ve made it out of the storm, and we’ll be in Perché within the hour.”

He glances at my father and notices how he’s holding his arm. “Y’alright there, Ian?” Father gives him a reassuring grin, “I will be.” He gives a nod, tapping my father on his uninjured shoulder. “Good. It’ll be late when we get there, so I don’t think the doctor or harbormaster will be up. We’ll see ‘em in the morning.”

He turns to leave, stopping and turning back for a final comment, “oh, and I’ll be sure to inform you once I know more about the damages.” The captain pats the wooden frame of the door, and father nods, motioning to his arm. “I’ll be sure ta do the same.” I shake my head as the two share a laugh. “Thank ye, Captain.”

He gives me a wave as he heads out of the room. I take the chance to grab some cloth and make a sling for father’s arm, carefully helping him put it on. Father decides to rest in the chair while I go to read my book.

Before I can start though, father stops me. “Best pack ev’rythin’ up, Orla. We’ll go ashore and stay in the tavern tonight.”

——————————

I woke the next morning bright and early, a force of habit, especially on this trip. After getting some breakfast for father and I, I went to check on him. He’d gotten us separate rooms at the tavern, seeing as they had the room for it, so I was thankful that he was already awake when I came in.

When I enter, I realize why he got me my own room. It was just so he could sleep on the chair without me lecturing him about how bad that is for him like mom always does. However, considering his injured arm, I would have let it slide.

Since he’s already sitting up, getting him his breakfast doesn’t take much work. Once we’re both finished eating, I help him get his coat on over his shoulders and walk him to the doctor’s house. Fortunately, the man is up, though apparently only recently. He’s still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

After some arguing, father talks me into leaving. By now, the captain and harbormaster should be up, so he insists I go check on the status of the ship while he’s getting looked-over. Quite gruffly, I leave the doctor to his work and go to do as he asks.

Sure enough, the captain seems to have just finished with the harbormaster. More importantly though, he doesn’t look happy. “Mornin’ Captain!”

I seem to have interrupted his thoughts as he all but jumps at my voice. He relaxes a little when he sees it’s me. “Sorry ta scare ya, sir… What ‘ave ya heard ‘bout the Bobcat? How long till she’s ready ta sail again?”

He sighs, “alas, my beautiful Bobcat will take at least a week and a half to repair. Longer if the mast is worse than it looks.”

Looking over at the Bobcat, her main mast is still standing, but some large chunks of wood are missing from it. If the captain can’t get the proper reinforcements, he’ll have to replace the whole thing. He already needs to replace the foremast as it is. Not to mention that snow and other storms might slow down the repairs even further.

I nod slowly, “Thank ye, captain. I’ll let ma father know.” He nods, still obviously frustrated. “Let me know what the doctor says about your father’s arm, okay?”

“Aye. Will do, sir.”

Back at the doctor’s house, father’s arm looks better. The doctor explains that his arm needs to heal for about a month and a half to two months. Longer if the damage gets worse. So, for at least three weeks, doctor’s orders are to not even let him  _ try _ to use that arm.

Once we’ve paid and thanked the doctor, we head outside. Instantly, father starts complaining about not being allowed to use his arm. He does a lot around the house at home, so remembering not to touch it will be annoying. Ordinarily, I’d poke fun in this situation, but considering he got it while saving me from the falling mast, I feel too guilty to attempt it.

“We’ve bigger problems than yer arm, dad. The Bobcat won’t sail for almost two weeks, likely longer.” My father stops walking altogether, staring at me with a mix of rage and disbelief, which is about as close to fear as he is usually willing to show.

“Tha’s not good, lass. I don’ think we have enough money ta stay tha’ long.”

The hunting my father and I do is my family’s main source of income, and we won’t make as much money off our goods in this port as we might back home. We can sell the meat here, but things like the furs will easily survive the trip and are better sold back in the colonies.

We walk slowly for a bit before father seems to come to a decision. “A’right. We see if the tavern wants any of our meat in exchange fer a few free nights. Then, we’ll ask around and see if any ships are going home any sooner than the Bobcat. If not, at least find one willin ta take a letter ta yer mother.”

We return to the tavern and father strikes a deal with the owners. They agree to not make father pay until we are leaving. At that time, he’ll pay with some of our meat, and our coin, if necessary.

The rest of our day is spent hanging around the docks and speaking to the townsfolk about any captains or fishermen who may be sailing back to the colonies sometime soon. Fishing vessels and military patrols come and go all day long, but none are going the way we need to, or are unwilling to take passengers.

The longer we ask around, the more worried we become… When will I get to see my mother again?


	3. Options and Solutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contemplating how to get home. Do they find one?

I start to get very worried as the day wears on. My father tries to hide his worry, but I know he must be concerned as well.

Lunch and afternoon pass in a bit of a blur with no further luck in finding passage home. Unfortunately, Anticosti is the next port closer to home than this one, but that’s a long-abandoned French military port that's been overrun by some not-so-friendly men, so we'd only be in worse standing than we are now. Not to mention that the French may not want to take members of the British colonies home…

Father decides, after a lot of searching, to go back to the tavern for a little rest. Meanwhile, I return to the dock once more for another chance at passage home. The Bobcat’s crew are around the town and at the dock. A few of them are fishing, some are talking with the local ladies, and others are having a drink in the sun.

Some that are closer to us and the captain call their sympathies for father’s arm. I thank them and wish the happy fishers good luck. Then, I spot a new ship at the dock. The men who are fishing tell me it’s only just pulled in. Father may not have spoken to them yet.

I rush over immediately, catching one of the crew leaving the ship. “Spare a moment, sir?” He smiles upon seeing me, giving his friend a little push to move along while he waits by me. “Aye… What can I do for ya, lass?”

“I was jus’ wonderin’ where this ship is headin’ next?” Something akin to disappointment flashed across his features, but it’s quickly covered up. “With any luck, New York. We’re stoppin’ ‘ere to be sure we ‘ave the supplies for the trip.”

My eyes light up as he mentions New York. It’s incredibly close to home. So far, this sounds like our best possible chance, “does she ever take passengers?” I motion to the ship he had come on.

He scratches his chin, “‘m not sure. I ‘aven’t sailed with this cap’n for very long now, but ‘e’s a reasonable man. Maybe ‘e would.”

His accent is rather thick, not certain what it is, but I catch all of it. “Know where I might find ‘im?” He shrugs, “yu could try the tav’rn.”

I nod, “thank ye, sir.” I hurry back to the tavern and share with my father what I’d learned. We end up waiting in the tavern for maybe an hour without any luck.

Finally, father decides to give me something to do. “Orla? Why don’ ya go move yer things into my room upstairs. I told the owner we’d be sharin’ until we leave, so just let ‘em know when the room is empty.”

I don’t like the idea of leaving him, but it’s a crowded place, and I’m thankful to have something to do besides waiting, so I nod and go upstairs to do as he asks.

——————————

Once I finish moving rooms, I come back downstairs to find the place still incredibly noisy. It was starting to get late as my father meets me on the floor that overlooks the main floor.

“Orla! There ye are! I asked if we could ‘ave our dinner up ‘ere, since it’s so loud below. Come.” He directs me to an open table on the kind of indoor balcony overlooking the main floor and the sea of drunken sailors that occupy it.

That’s probably the real reason he wants to eat up here. The noise is almost as bad up here as down below. He just doesn’t want to risk me stepping away from him and getting swept up in the sea of men.

…Some things never change…

My mood improves with the news that my dad got to talk with the captain of that new ship in the harbor and that he’d agreed to take us to New York with him the day after tomorrow.

In the crowd below, dad barely manages to point the man out to me in case he needs me to run and talk to him at some point without him.

—————————

Father and I spent the next day adding a little salt to the meat from our kills and start cleaning the furs. It is a process to truly clean them, but the first step is basically a very thorough wash, so that we could do.

The morning we’re due to cast off comes and I pack up our things, making sure to check our list of meats and furs for the trip home. The captain of the Bobcat was kind enough to keep it on his ship during the repairs. It would also be more ideal conditions for storage than what we had in the tavern.

After helping dad get his shirt, coat & gloves on, I pass him his bag. “Orla?”

Tilting my head up to meet his gaze, I can see how tired he is. The medicine helps immensely with his pain, but it makes him very drowsy.

“Yes, da’?” He heaves a sigh as he puts his bag over his good shoulder.

“I’m goin’ ta meet the captain an’ make sure we ‘ave enough room fer our goods in ‘is ship’s hold. Go ta the Bobcat an’ get the meats an’ furs from ‘em. ‘M certain they’ll be glad ta be riddin’ themselves o’ the smell.”

With a wink, he grins and sets off for the door. I shake my head at him. He thinks he’s hilarious sometimes. We part at the tavern entrance and he reminds me to be quick in meeting at the other dock or he’ll come after me, broken arm or not.

I do attempt to keep my trip brief. Fortunately, the captain and several of his crew were already up to oversee the repairs anyway. Several were glad to have an excuse to do a different job than helping with the hull repairs. The repairs are only just starting today and there’s a storm due tonight. If they work hard and fast, they won’t have to repeat this work later.

The Bobcat will need plenty of other repairs to her hull and will need new sails among other small repairs while she waits for a new mast, so she’ll still be here awhile.

Several crewmen try to help take the crate of meat, trying to find a way for all of them to get out of work. Unfortunately, their captain isn’t as amused by it as I am. He picks one of them to go with me and I take the furs in a bag over my shoulder. We head off together for the other dock quickly, but without running. There’s no need in this freezing cold. We’ll just get colder.

We reach the other dock and our home for the next few weeks comes into view. She’s a lovely ship. I think she’s a sloop-of-war, if I have my ship’s correct. She sports a nice blue and gold paint job with an intricate gold-colored figurehead at the bow.

I see father up ahead talking to who appears to be the young captain and a slightly older man with his hair cut very close to his head… He must be _freezing_ in this cold. The captain, if that is him, appears to be about my age.

Dark brown hair that comes down to around the base of his neck. It looks messy from a distance, and doesn’t seem to look any better as we get closer. It looks clean, sure, but I would believe anyone who says he’s never taken a comb to it.

A mustache graces his upper lip with a small patch of hair on his lower lip too. It’s not thick enough to joke he has a rat on his face, but it’s enough and clean enough that it’s certainly not a result of forgetting to shave. It’s intentional.

The taller man has some facial hair too, but on him it looks more like he either just hasn’t shaved in a while or his razor is a little too dull to get it all. It’s incredibly light, almost disappearing against his skin.

As we get closer, I can hear them talking, seems to be about the route we’ll be taking.

“Yer certain we’re no’ takin’ ye too far off yer course, Captain?” The young man smiles. “Yes, sir, I’m certain. New York isn’ tha’ far out o’ our way. We’re happy ta have ya.”

The older man turns back to the ship and back to my father. By now, the docks are bustling with activity. He says something I can’t hear and my father peaks over his shoulder and grins at me.

“Orla! There ya are! Come ‘ere lass!”

Smiling, I step up next to him as the Bobcat’s crewman stops a little behind me.

“Gentlemen, this is ma daughter, Orla. Orla, this is Cap’n Shay Cormac and his first mate, Liam O’Brien.” I reach up to push my hood back to see them better, “I’s a pleasure ya meet ye gentlemen. Yer really helpin’ us outta a tight spot ‘ere. Greatly appreciate it.”

The men are quiet for a moment, but the Captain recovers first, offering me his hand to shake. “Pleasure’s our’s miss. An’ the Morrigan hardly minds a few more bodies aboard.” He grins at me and I chuckle at his bad joke.

“Thank ya, Captain. Tha’s very kind o’ ya.”

By now, his first mate seems to have recovered from whatever had bothered him and he holds out his hand as well. “Pleasure ta meet ye. Welcome aboard.”

“Thank ya, sir.”

We get our meat aboard and one of the Morrigan’s crew takes it below to the hold. The first mate, O’Brien, takes us down to our cabin. The Morrigan is a bigger ship but that means more crew. The one we are shown to seems to have been an officer’s cabin with a hammock added to it.

I hurry over to it and quickly set my bag in it as my father starts scolding me. “Oh no ya don’! Yer takin’ the bed, Orla. I don’ wanna hear no two words abou’ it!”

Turning to him, I grin. Usually, dad would say not one word and I’d say two as my argument. Now, he’s trying to flip it on me. Good news is, I only need one to finish this argument.

I hold up my right arm, the one that’s injured on him and say, hiding my smugness as best I can, “arm.”

He looks down at his injured arm and up at the hammock he’d have to lift his whole body into every night. He groans and I giggle. “Ya set yerself up fer tha’ one da’.”

From the doorway, I hear mister O’Brien chuckle. “I’ll leave ye ta get settled then,” and he turns to go.

As soon as he’s gone, dad grabs a pillow off his bed and throws it at me, prompting a lot of giggling.


End file.
